Abandon Hope: All Ye Who Watch This Show
by sarahvma
Summary: A simple, yet utterly hilarious CSI parody. Now that I've built it up too much, prepare to be underwhelmed!
1. Chapter 1

CSI Parody (WT)

**Chapter One**

_By Meaghan Stevenson and Sara Arboleda_

_(The Jew Crew)_

Grissom enters his office, devoid of emotion. Sitting at his desk he slowly opens the second drawer down and adds a lock of hair to the shrine of Sara.

A knock on the door causes Grissom to have a mild expression of partial surprise as he quickly shuts the drawer.

"Nick," says he, seeing the outlined silhouette in the doorway, its hands planted on its rock-hard abs, chiseled chin jutting upwards. "Have you seen Greg?"

Nick flips a nearby switch, casting him in better lighting. "I don't… what are you implying?" asks Nick, with his quaint Southern accent from some nondescript yet charming small town in Texas.

"I need you to get some reports from him for the two-headed suicide-homicide Siamese twin male hooker case. I have a feeling we can dig up another trite plot twist if we try," says Grissom, rearranging the pencils on his desk from shortest to longest.

"Yeah. Sure."

As Nick leaves, he passes Warrick and Sara going the opposite direction in the hallway and talking to further the plot.

"Nick!" calls a voice, and he turns to find Greg, looking comical and attractive.

"Hey, Nick. I got the DNA results right here. Turns out the hookers owned a major bank branch in Las Angeles and they're not really Siamese twins – superglue and home-made clothes."

"Why?" demands Nick, in a muscularly heroic fashion.

Greg shrugs hilariously. "Because it's needlessly weird and unexpected?"

"Greg, can I talk to you for a second, in private?" asks Nick, surveying the empty hall and leading Greg into a nearby lab, locking them in.

"Greg, I have a confession to make."

"You didn't sleep with another dead hooker, did you?"

"Greg… I have _two_ confessions to make."

"What is it, then?"

"First: I never slept with that whore. I paid her to say we did so no one at the lab would suspect…" Nick ponders for a moment, looking bronzed yet vacant. "Greg, being brought up in the small town which gave me this quaint and charming Southern accent taught me three things: One: how to say y'all without laughing; Two: How to shuck a hefty corn husk; and Three: how to have gay sex in the hay loft after barn socials."

Greg stares at Nick for a full minute. "I'm… I'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

"I like to sleep with men."

"Right."

"And I'm telling you."

"Correct."

"So…"

"You're gay?" asks Greg, uncharacteristically seriously.

"Can't a man just enjoy sleeping with other men without having to throw labels out?"

There's a knock at the locked, clear glass door. Greg goes to answer amusingly.

"Grissom!" says Nick, now that the door is open.

"The reports!" says Greg. "Turns out - "

"We already know," says Grissom in his most excited monotone.

"But how?" inquires Greg.

Grissom shrugs. "The plot was moving too slowly. We've already explored 10 different ways they could have died. Warrick's arresting the Communists now."

"Warrick's not a cop," says Nick handsomely.

"A lot has happened," answers Grissom.

"Great," interjects Greg. "I'll get to work on tomorrow's 3-hour investigation."

"I hope you're not letting the CSI's ride you too hard," says Grissom to Greg as he leaves down the hallway. "So, what are you doing tonight, Nick?"

"Whores. I love whores. Female whores."

Catherine enters, looking smug and feminist. "Is someone speaking of women who exchange sex or nudity for money in a way which demeans them?"

"No. Never," says Grissom, faintly concerned.

"Good," responds Catherine. "Because everyone should know that even strippers and hookers can become successful professional scientists and mothers."

"Catherine?" asks Sara, coming in for equally no reason. "My female whore detector went off – I feel I need to make a boring feminist statement."

"No, I already covered it," she answers, and the two leave together.

"So…" tries Nick, steering away from the previous conversation, "what's going on with you and Sara?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, you've been milking that cheap and creepy attempt at sexual tension for years."

"I'm… I'm a virgin."

"You are?"

"No, I just think she's ugly and I'm trying to let her down gently."

"Really?"

"No."

"I'm back," says Greg adorably.

"Good. I'll go sleep in my office as usual and you two hammer this out till morning."

Grissom leaves. Boredom and despair leave with him.

"Nick, I have a question," says Greg as the trail of lonely nights and insects finally dissipates. "Wanna process my DNA?"

"No, Greg. I've been trying to tell you that I think you're cute and I sleep with men."

"Uh-huh. And I just asked you in a very obvious way if you want to fuck, but that's okay – we can't all win sometimes.

Nick's cell phone rings and he answers it, looking toned.

"It's Brass," Nick informs Greg for the audience's benefit. "Murder at the Bellaggio."

"For story purposes, we'll jump to Season 5. Let's roll. I'll get the CSI jackets," says Greg, adjusting the quirky outrageousness of his hair to match the year.

"I'll go throw on more baby oil and meet you at the scene in slow motion while people grieve. This adds depth to the scene. Plus I look fantastic in slow motion."

"If we hurry, we might be able to catch Grissom's hilarious, insensitive and inappropriate pun before the opening credits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Nothing upsets me more than kids getting hurt. No one's really sure why, but I figure it's bland enough to earn audience sympathy. I also hate men who beat their wives… and those damn sexy green M&M's."

"I don't get it," says Brass as the Who start playing.

All the CSI's are now assembled.

"Dead child stripper. Stabbed several times and her Mother has a gambling problem. You might all want to enrage yourselves individually about this," says Grissom, his face emoting a look that could be pondering… or angry. "I can tell she was deaf."

"How?" asks Sara, stooping beside him.

"Because it's part of my mysterious back-story that never gets fully explained."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the producer as well as the star and I feel explaining my history might require me to act instead of coasting on the script."

Sara stares at the young girl's face, trying to hold back her own personal story-related anger. "How does this happen to someone so young?"

Catherine comes up beside her. "You can only imagine. This is why I signed Lindsay up for little league after Eddie died…"

Sara immediately tries to find a way to leave without Catherine noticing.

Nick and Greg help each other put on their rubber gloves a little ways off.

"Don't you love the slick, oily feeling of latex, Nick?"

"No. I always seem to get this white stuff all over my hands when I take them off. Plus it makes my fingers taste funny… y'all."

"She must have bled to death," says Catherine, still beside the body. "There's a lot of blood. It's dark out tonight. When it's light the sky is blue. Life is difficult. Reach for the stars. Stay away from drugs. Do what you feel… I've run out of obvious statements."

"That's okay, Cath," says Grissom in a tone of forced friendship establishing his human side. "I feel I need to look interested in something and find an important clue," says Grissom, spotting a small stack of gambling chips clutched in the girl's fist. "Around the 45-minute mark this will all make sense - unless we choose a B-plot. In which case we might just ignore it. I won't predict anything, because that's part of my character description. Warrick, even though you have a gambling addiction, I'm going to get you to talk to the casino."

"A plotline of my very own!" says Warrick, being black, but not overtly enough to cause unease.

"No. This will be off-camera. Come with me, Sara. We need to have another moment of sexual tension. We'll flip a coin to decide who's resisting it this week.

Nick prances over to the rest of the group. "Hey, guys, look what I found!"

Grissom glances over the new evidence and looks at the body. "It's an earpiece."

"You stole my line," says Catherine.

"I'll run it back to the lab," says Greg. "Demoted to Season 2."

Nick looks desperately around the crime scene for another piece of evidence. "Oh! I found a hair… it seems suspicious. I should test it. Greg, I'll come with you and we can process each other… others' evidence."

Greg is already waiting in the van.

"When will people learn?" asks Catherine, as the two speed away and she draws closer once more to the dead child. "Stripper polls aren't babysitters!"

Sara and Grissom depart quickly.

"I'm in love with you," says Grissom as he and Sara enter the strip club across the street.

"Let's go out, then."

"No."

"Why not?" asks Sara, picking up three stray syringes and a handgun and placing them in CSI baggies.

"You're coming on a little strong."

"But… you just said…"

"Sara, this is inappropriate."

"I'm sorry, we're supposed to believe you're a genius investigator with no social skills whatsoever yet you can get confessions out of cold-blooded killers and not land a date?"

"What do you want?" he asks, bagging two more gambling chips. "Nobody said this was HBO."

Grissom frowns. He may, however, just be hungry. "What kind of strip club would employ a child?"

"I don't know, just don't ask Catherine. She'll find some way to talk about her daughter for half an hour. And her ex-husband."

"Isn't he dead?"

"She's still angry."

"Because of the failed marriage?"

"No, because now she doesn't have anything new to bitch about."

"Is that why she's in love with Warrick?"

"Most likely."

Grissom turns and raises an eyebrow with little effort. "We better get this back to the lab."

Catherine enters and she and Sara exchange looks that mean nothing yet appear significant.

Commercial Break! Watch CSI's Miami, New York, Kentucky, Kosovo and Hiroshima.

Warrick returns to the empty crime scene, having missed everything.

"Mother fu - "

Grissom, Catherine and Sara walk down the CSI headquarters hallway. Somewhere nearby Ecklie watches and twirls his non-existent moustache. This is because he is evil.

The team hears the unmistakable sound of gay porn coming from the media review room. Archie is seated at his desk in front of his huge plasma screen TV/computer.

"Archie…" says Grissom, frowning somewhat. "Didn't we already solve the twin male hooker case?"

"This… this is different."

"No. That is the same tape," says Catherine obviously.

"Hey, look!" says Archie, diverting their attention. "I'm Asian– isn't that novel? And I have a hilariously outdated name like Archie, proving my parents didn't speak English before moving here. And it's even funnier because that's my name in real life – no, seriously – check the credits."

"So what's with the porn?" asks Sara suicidally.

"I'm trying to see if I can be aroused by anything. But after years of looking at this crap, nothing surprises me."

"That's sad," says Catherine.

"Duh," says Archie. "I'll just leave conveniently for the next seven episodes. See ya guys!"

Hastily leaving Archie, the three continue down the never-ending set.

"Hello," says a blonde wig with ears.

"Sofia!" says Grissom, in what we can only assume is his most charming and seductive frown.

"Let's flirt without any real chemistry or charisma!" suggests Sofia blandly.

"Certainly. But why?"

"Because I'm not actually a character. I've simply been placed here to mess with the dynamic of the team, solve the cases with the least amount of experience and most importantly delay any relationship you might have with Sara."

Sara begins slitting her wrists while drinking heavily.

"Wasn't that part of _my_ character description?" asks Catherine.

"No," Grissom interrupts. "We're just friends with a strong underlying sexual attraction. You have that with everyone, except Warrick – the one person you were supposed to."

"Oh no!" says Sara, putting down her beer and blade. "We're focusing too much on romantic character development."

"You're right. We'll leave this scene like nothing has happened and return to it six episodes later when it will no longer have any plausible purpose," decides Grissom for everyone.

"Do any of us _ever_ have sex?" asks Catherine, her face "naturally" immobile.

"Pretty much just you… always off-camera with people we've never seen until it all gets fucked up," says Grissom… with neither an adjective nor a noun to describe his current emotions.

Later, in the lab, Nick and Greg start cracking down on the evidence found at the scene.

"Hey Nick," says Greg, leaning forward into the microscope. "I think you should check this out."

"Don't worry, I already am…"

Greg turns around, raising a comical eyebrow. "How can you, the microscope is over…"

"Greg, I was talking about your ass."

"Oh, well then."

"Come on, you know you want it, we both do!"

Greg turns back to the lab table and starts putting the equipment away. "Yes, but… we both get off in an hour, so…"

Nick slowly walks behind him and holds him close with his ridiculously enlarged arms, resting his head on Greg's white lab coat, and whispers, "Or we could get off right now."

"I'm afraid it's against regulations to take a break early," says Ecklie, entering at this moment because he is evil, however failing to notice the outrageous homosexual subtext of the scene. "Nick, can I see you in my office shirtless?"

"Sorry?" asks Nick, looking sexy and confused.

"I said shortly. Shortly…"

"We're kind of in the middle of something," says Greg.

"I can fire you, Sanders. I can fire you all! Mwahahahahaha. Mwahahahah."

"How did you even get this job?" asks Nick. "Not only are you critically stupid and a bad CSI, but you're pointlessly mean and annoying."

"Stokes, you're on one week's leave without pants."

"What?"

"Pay! I said pay!" says Ecklie, disappearing in a cloud of pure, concentrated evil.

Nick shakes his head and turns back to Greg who looks shocked and concerned… possibly in a funny way.

"It wasn't that bad, Greg."

"What if he had caught us? We could both lose our jobs, and let's face it – what the hell would we do without our comfy government-funded positions that allow us to lazily solve a case a day without breaking a sweat?"

"That's crazy-talk! I would have told Ecklie that… your mom died."

"Nick, I think I need some space before our relationship even begins. I've been getting dating advice from Grissom. I figure that's the smartest course of action."

"Greg, please? I thought our uncomfortable yet inescapable homoerotic subtext was blossoming into something more finally… after all these years."

Greg turns around and looks back into the microscope, trying not to emote; his second set of lessons from Grissom paying off. "I think I may have something that will interest you, Nick."

Nick turns to face Greg dramatically. "You already do."

They fall into each other's arms and Greg says, his face buried in Nick's chest of steel, "I just don't want to screw up my time in the field. If I get boring, they'll probably kill me off to save more money for pointless flash-back special effects."

Nick flashes his warm Southern smile that all of the surrounding women who aren't inexplicably hitting on Grissom love. As they lean toward one-another, a vibration at Nick's thigh interrupts them.

"Damn," says Nick, checking his beeper. "It's Grissom!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Grissom enters the break room looking angry. No, really – his face can do that.

"Conrad! You put one of my CSI's on one-week leave?"

Ecklie turns around sinisterly. "Nicholas Stokes is a loose cannon."

"No he isn't."

"Okay, no he isn't – but he was behaving inappropriately with Sanders."

"We all do! That's why we hired Greg - you know that. He only became a full CSI so we could shut him up when the review board came around."

"Fine. Stokes wasn't receptive to my come-ons," says Ecklie resentfully while adding rat poison to the communal coffee pot.

"Conrad, you're not even gay."

Catherine and Warrick enter, also upset about Nick, mostly to further establish that Ecklie is evil.

"I know," says Ecklie, resting his pitchfork against the table, "but I've been rejected by all the women."

"At CSI?" asks Grissom.

"No, everywhere. So I figure there's nowhere to go from here. I tried spending my time at the morgue…"

"Dear God," says Catherine, removing the empty needle from her forehead, "even _I'm_ not that desperate for it."

"I know," continues Ecklie, "but then I found out Doc was married."

"What about David?" Grissom suggests.

Everyone shudders violently.

"Well, I think…" begins Warrick.

"We better get back to the lab," says Grissom, as though no one had spoken.

"Isn't anyone going to listen to me? Don't I matter? Can't I have _some_ character development?"

Warrick notices that everyone has already left and reaches to make himself a cup of coffee. "Damnit! That's it – I'm going to the casino. My gambling problem is all that keeps me from being billed as "Random Non-Threatening Black Guy", and now that Nick's on leave I can't even be "Helpful and Cool Token Negro Buddy"."

"Hey, Warrick!" says Grissom, coming back in through the door as Warrick begins bringing the cup of coffee to his mouth. "We just found out this case involves a black man! We'll ask you to interrogate him without really saying why."

Warrick drains the coffee in the sink. "Yeah, that'll make it less obvious. Are you going to get Catherine to interview the girl's mother while Sara handles the abusive father?"

"Yep! You know, I've just realized… without all of my pretentious Shakespeare quotes, Latin, quirky obsession with bugs and unyielding reverence from my co-workers, I'm actually a pretty crappy supervisor."

"Yeah, but we're pretty crappy CSI's – I mean, why would you have an entire team of emotionally scarred people working on murder cases around the clock?"

Grissom has already left. Warrick pulls out his pointless CSI gun and removes the safety.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sara is interviewing _Generic Deadbeat Dad #324_. She is personal backstory-related angry.

"Yeah, so, I hates ma kids, but when I found out Lil' Suzie could dance, I got her to strip, ya know?"

"I find that unspeakably disgusting," says Sara, deepening her permanent scowl.

"What do you expect?" demands #324, "I'm just a stock character. Why don't we just cut to the chase: I'm far too obvious and far too likely to be the killer. Instead of spending the next time-elapsed twenty minutes suspecting me, why don't you just move on?"

"I can't do that," says Sara, frowning so hard her face might collapse. "Otherwise this show would be half-an-hour long."

"You, uh… you wanna just skip to the part where you badger me?"

"Sounds good," says Sara, characteristically losing her temper. One would think that after years of having to do this, she could do it well. One would be wrong. "How could you do this to your child, you sick scumbag?"

Ecklie enters the interrogation room, his black cape billowing behind him and a curl of smoke at his heels. "Sidle! You're on one-week leave without pay effective immediately. I'm so sorry, sir – Sofia and Warrick's wife will show you to the Plot Device Character Lounge. I'll be in shortly."

Sara is really angry. Her forehead is now permanently wrinkled and she no longer has lips.

Catherine and Brass knock on the front door of the child's Mother's house. Brass cracks dry, inappropriate jokes that are only okay because he is pudgy, balding and middle-aged. It's best if you ignore the fact that he carries a gun.

"Hey, Cath – what's worse than one dead baby stapled to a tree? One dead baby stapled to fifty trees! I love your tight ass."

"Oh, Brass – you're too much!" says Catherine laughing audibly if not visually. "Remind me to mention Lindsay or Eddie during the interrogation."

The Mother opens the door. She has tacky bleach-blonde hair, smudged make-up and a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

"The Writers aren't even trying anymore, are they?" says Catherine, as the cameraman adjusts the focus lens for her age so it appears that she now has the ability to glow. "You're just classic Deadbeat Smoker Mom, possibly with a dash of druggie or hooker.

"They pretty much just have a fridge magnet poetry set that they use to put stories together. That, and the World Fetish Encyclopedia," says Brass. "Now tell us about your daughter, you crazy whore!"

Everyone laughs because this is hilarious and not offensive.

"Do you by any chance have a **Teenage Son or Daugh**ter?" asks Catherine.

"Yes, I have a **Teenage Daughter**. She loved her sister and she works as a Blackjack dealer at the Casino - "

"No, no – stop," says Catherine. "Real suspects have to wait until the 40-minute mark."

"Okay, so do you have any questions?"

"I understand the deep pain of divorce," begins Catherine.

"Oh holy Jesus," says Brass as he contemplates shooting himself with his useful but unused LVPD gun.

Across town, Nick, depressed and drinking from a jug marked with three X's has grown The Ugliest Moustache Known to Man.

"Dear God," says Greg as Nick answers the door. "Have you become a State Trooper?"

"No," says the moustache attached to what used to be Hot Nick. "When you've worked the CSI Graveyard Shift for a long enough period of time, you have to grow facial hair. It's a cheap way of simulating seniority; Doc, Grissom and Warrick have been here a little longer, but I feel it's time.

"Oh," says Greg, trying not to stare directly at it. "I always figured Grissom was just trying to hide his suddenly noticeable double-chin."

"Well… Grissom did come up with the rule."

"So I'm right, then."

"Pretty much," says the Moustache. "So, uh… so… why are you here?"

"Oh. Well, I came to have sex with you but… you see… I was never a fan of Magnum P.I. so… I feel I may just have to awkwardly leave now."

"Oh. Wow. This is awkward. It's… it's not really that bad, is it?"

"Nick, if I don't leave soon, I may throw up. I also don't believe I'm capable of erections any longer."

"So… no sex, then?"

Greg turns green. It's not that comical.

Back at the Lab, Grissom holds up one of the betting chips found in Lil' Suzie's hands to the light. His mouth forms an "O" and his eyes are focused in a hard squint. We've now reached the triad of Grissom's emotions.

"Wait a second, this isn't right…"

For no reason, Horatio comes into focus in the background and removes his glasses. "C'mon, we're gonna get these guys!"

"What are you doing in my lab 3000 miles from yours?" demands Grissom.

"Your cut-to-commercial out-tros suck. I was just helping you out," says Horatio not smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five **

Grissom sits before the female Hotel Concierge of the Bellaggio.

"Mr. Grissom, I feel I need to flirt in a creepy and sexually suggestive way with you even though I'm a 25-year-old attractive then blonde woman who could probably have anyone."

"I love being a producer. Anyway, I'll pretend not to notice you're flirting openly with me. This establishes me as a professional… and unintentionally a little gay."

"What would you like?" she asks, crossing her legs and biting the end of her glasses.

"Information about this betting chip in relation to a murder."

"That's not ours – it's a fake," she says, removing her bra and shaking out her hair.

"I know. Do you by any chance have any disgruntled ex-employees with access to some kind of betting chip maker?"

"Well," she begins, unbuttoning her blouse, "that's kind of ridiculously complicated, but it just occurs to me that the girl's father and sister were both laid off the night of the murder."

"Naturally this helps our case only on the father. Well, thank you for your help. You seem to have misplaced these," he says, handing back her panties.

He leaves. She is confused… and naked.

At the morgue, Doc is cutting open the little girl to an appropriately sad piece of modern music that the producers could get cheap. This is effective. This is also a way of wasting time so the writers can show what's going on in every aspect of the case: Catherine is looking around the crime scene sadly, Sara is at home with Nick drinking heavily from the whisky jug, Greg is looking through a microscope and Grissom is being groped by showgirls as he leaves the hotel/casino.

"Hodges, did you get the prints off of the betting chip?" asks Greg, entering the lab.

Prepare yourself for hilarious Greg/Hodges banter.

"Greg, I'm really backed up at the moment," says Hodges in a nasty way. We hate Hodges because he is mean to Greg (who is nice and funny). Hodges is bad, but not evil. That's Ecklie's job.

"Have you ever noticed how lab techs are always complaining about heavy work loads, yet we never hear about cases lasting more than 48-hours?" asks Greg. We like Greg. We want him to stand up to mean Hodges. This is pretty much the whole point of these scenes.

"Unless it's an old case Ecklie worked on and screwed up and Grissom or Catherine need to go back and investigate," says Hodges in an annoying way because he is a suck up.

"You also ever notice how you and Ecklie are never in the same room?"

"There can only really be room for one unnecessarily incompetent and evil character at one time. Anything else is overload."

"So what about my chip?"

"Curse you, Sanders – curse your witty dialogue, cute hair and character development! I shall now mock your CSI work up to date. You don't label things properly sometimes – ha!"

"I'll be mildly offended but ignore you."

"Our interactions really aren't as funny as the writers seem to think," says Hodges.

"No, but by comparison I suddenly look like a model lab tech," reminds Greg.

"Funny how that happens."

"Again, not really."

"So the prints… they're the Father's," says Hodges, now that enough time has successfully been wasted.

"It definitely tightens our case on the dad."

"Plot twist time," says Hodges.

"The Father has an air-tight alibi," says Catherine, entering Grissom's office unannounced as usual.

Grissom is inspecting one of his spiders. Grissom is "quirky". If this wasn't a TV show, however, Grissom would be the kind of guy you cross the road to avoid passing on the sidewalk.

"There isn't anyone else to suspect…" says Grissom, at a loss for ideas and wracking his brains. "If only there were an obvious second choice equally close to the girl with the same kind of professional credentials as the father…"

"I know," says Catherine, "Let's head down to the morgue. This story's getting slow and we need Doc's morbid sense of humor as filler."

Doc is missing either one or both of his legs. Pay attention: this will probably be mentioned or at least alluded to.

"Hey, I have at least one prosthetic leg and a cane!" says Doc, limping into the room. Making fun of this further would be cruel, but I can say I told you so. "I'll probably make a strange reference to sex or materials pertaining to sex. Prepare to be massively weirded out."

"What important yet strange things have you found, Doc?" asks Grissom.

It's like watching two walls talking to each other until a bizarre joke is cracked. Then neither will emote. We're led to believe therefore that they are both great actors."

"With a child her age, I expect to find Lunchables and Gummy Bears. But this little girl was full of Cocaine and Cognac. This reminds me of my honeymoon."

"I really hope this guy hits his wife!" says Grissom, starting to get mildly Grissom-angry.

"Why?"

"It's kind of like a slot machine – if all three of my "problem-cases" combine, I fly off the handle. They usually pull this stuff out for sweeps."

"I thought the Dad was cleared," says Catherine.

"We're going to stay with that suspect until there's no way we can refute the real killer. I'm going to go do a bug experiment with a pig."

Catherine turns to Doc as Grissom leaves rudely (only it's Grissom so it's quirky and admirable).

"Our cut-to-commercial out-tros really do suck."

Somewhere Horatio is **not smiling**.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

At the lab, Greg is processing DNA while watching Nick from the personal feed left over from Creepy Cable Guy. The writers have now reached their maximum capacity for continuity.

"Do you have my results?"

Grissom enters soundlessly. Greg begins to hyperventilate.

"Yep," says Greg, preparing to do a large and impressive display. His nervousness tells us he respects and admires Grissom, despite the fact that Grissom likes to berate and degrade him. "I found out - "

"I already know."

"You do?"

"No," says Grissom, roughly grabbing the results sheet from Greg's hand, "but I'm always annoyed by our interactions. I will later promote you to full CSI for absolutely no reason."

"Then why do we bother with these scenes?"

"Plot device, Greg. Plot device. The "revealing evidence" scenes are a way of explaining to the audience painfully slowly and obviously about things we as real CSI's would not need explained in finite detail," says Grissom. He checks his watch. "We have a little time left over if you want to squeeze in a hilarious case-related one-liner."

"No… I've shifted to Season Six. I'm now bland and boring," says Greg monotonously, combing his hair into a side-part to eliminate the last vestiges of his appeal.

"Isn't that Nick's apartment?" asks the glowing silhouette of light and hairspray that is now Catherine. Grissom has left at some point. "You'd think he would've taken out those cameras by now."

"Isn't it enough of a suspension of disbelief that Nick is a top-level scientist?"

"True," says Catherine, her lips in the unnecessary porn-star pout, collagen leaking out the side. "With the exception of Sara and Grissom, it's hard to believe that any of us were accepted to college."

Ecklie enters the lab… he's still evil.

"Sanders – you're talking during work. You're on one-week leave without pay."

"Do you ever really do anything except fuck over graveyard shift?" demands Greg in a way that is neither hilarious nor cute.

"Isn't it impressive enough with my incompetence that I can do _that_?"

Catherine exits while she still has a job.

Having received Greg's results and done an experiment on a pig, Grissom (though he hasn't explained why) feels it is now time for a dramatic interrogation scene. Though the reasons for this are unknown to the audience, by the 45-minute mark no one really notices anyway.

"You know," begins completely Unsuspectable Teenage Sister, "don't you find it interesting that on every other crime/law show you never see the Forensics people doing any interrogating?"

"It's called dramatic license," explains Grissom, because he knows everything. "Without this stuff, people would realize that being a CSI is actually a mind-numbingly boring job that takes months of investigative work which is only a small piece of the trial and very rarely actually ends in a pre-trial confession. But Brass is here to make this slightly more realistic."

Brass scowls from the corner. He is utterly pointless, but this adds **depth and tension** to the scene.

"All the evidence points to you," says Grissom, only taking about seven more drawn-out sentences to say it.

"I have an excuse/alibi that is both irrefutable and completely ironic in its total association with the case."

"And that is?" asks Grissom.

"I'm allergic to the finite molecules that accumulate on the metal they use to galvenize stripper poles. Therefore I couldn't possibly have killed my sister without a reaction. Plus I was having sex with my father at the time."

"That's not really helpful to our investigation – the first half was really all we needed."

"Yeah," says Brass. "But we don't have a fetish or weird lifestyle choice for this episode, so some healthy incest is the best substitute."

"I'm also a man."

"Spoke too soon."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Warrick has gone on a shooting spree in a stereotypical bell tower. We can now give him screen time because he has escalated to Random Violent Black Man With a Weapon.

"Brown!" says Ecklie, shouting upward as the fountain behind him is pummeled with bullets. "You're on one-week leave with-"

Ecklie has been shot through the heart and head. If he were human, he would die, but instead he turns into silver metal-soup. He is either a Terminator or one of those Capri Sun people. Back at the lab, he has returned to his human form and is plotting a way to make Grissom look bad. It is unknown whether he will actually do any work. Ever.

"Stop, Warrick!" says Catherine, reapplying her lip gloss and adjusting her cleavage. "If you die/go to jail/conveniently leave the show I've lost the last thing that I can make entirely about me that's still mildly interesting and new. I mean, let's face it: even I hate the girl who plays my daughter. We can't subject people to her angry pout-face any more. Also... I'm carrying your child."

"How is that possible?" asks Warrick, stopping to reload.

"After six years haven't you learned to just abandon logic completely? Shock value is all that matters. Take your shirt off - that's usually a good distraction."

Nick arrives on the scene as well but Warrick doesn't recognize him. He raises his gun and aims.

"Die, Hitler!"

The gun is fired, but Nick moves his head a quarter of an inch and the bullet rips off his moustache instead. Just go with it. There are parades in the street. The people rejoice.

Warrick is shot down by the FBI. No one notices.

Grissom enters the morgue and Doc looks up from his child torture and pornography subscriptions.

"I just got your page, Doc - what have you suddenly realized now that at the time you couldn't tell me but suddenly makes sense and can solve the case in a timely and efficient manner? We have two minutes."

"The girl committed suicide," says Doc, but with flashbacks this takes a minute and a half.

"Huh. How'd we miss that?"

Doc shrugs.

"Wait," says David. "So that's it? There's no post-episode follow-up like on Law and Order... we're not continuing any of the personal romantic storylines... and what about Warri-"

Tune in next week for an episode about Compulsive-Eating Swinging Midget Transvestite Cat Suit People on Acid Who Are in A Cult.


End file.
